Barney frowned slightly.
Lucas gestured. "A bad year for you. The defection of Benedict Arnold—outright treason is always a shock to a nation. The south— your Carolinas overrun with British. The miserable failures of Count d'Estaing, your estimable French commander and ally. What a one." Lucas snorted with almost Gallic ardor. "All these serve to dampen the spirits."
Elise Roche said softly, "The captain does not seem discouraged."
Barney said, "Sometimes the tritest sayings serve. Like 'appearances are deceiving.' First d'Estaing failed so badly that he is being replaced. Had he performed in a mediocre manner we might still have had to put up with him." The boat pitched a little, and Lucas grasped for the locker.
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Barney had not moved. "Second, Madam Roche, the British did well to invade our south. They are now hopelessly entangled in the Carolina wilderness and, worse for them, better for us, have brought the war home to our south."
Lucas thought the time had come to put the important question. "But, sir, what are your plans now? What are you going to do?"
Barney said, his eyes on Elise Roche, "I'm not quite sure."
"You go to Paris perhaps? And see Dr. Franklin?"
Barney said slowly, "When I was taken prisoner, sir, I wore the unifomi of the Navy of the United States." He paused. "I expect I still have the right to wear it."
Lucas said bluntly, "Your Navy has no ships." He too paused, to dramatize his words. "But I can get you a ship!"
Barney balanced himself neatly against the roll of the ship. "Where?"
The answer spilled out eagerly. "There's one building at Brest, owned by a syndicate."
Barney was thinking how familiar these words sounded. Lucas went rushing on. "She will be fast, fast as the 'Revenge.' In the 'Revenge,' last year. Captain, if my memory serves me right, the damages you inflicted ran into six figures of pound sterling." Lucas' voice lingered ripely over that nice figure.
"Then last fall, even the Spanish refused me the use of Corunna."
"They were forced to! They were still neutral. But now you can have any port you want!"
"Any port, sir?" Barney enquired. "Is Lord North then thinking of committing the folly of going to war with Holland, too?"
Lucas seized quickly on a diversion. He lowered his voice and spoke in rapid French. "In strictest confidence, Captain, let me tell you that within six weeks, perhaps sooner, the Portuguese are going to forbid their ports to all belligerents in the war. This will work terrible hardship on the British, who will then have no port of call between Falmouth and Gibraltar. Think of the damages that you can wreak, operating out of Spain!" He held on tight to the locker, his swarthy face convulsed with excitement.
Barney leaned over Elise Roche and opened the window a little. "Isn't this too close for you?" he asked. Then he straightened, and faced Lucas.
"Colonel," Barney said, "we dangled prize money and Europe took the bait. Neither France nor Spain could turn down the mil-
36
lions in prizes we brought into their ports. Now they are at war with England; they can operate from their own ports, their warships, their privateers. To an American—to a sailor like me—the war has shifted its focus back to the States and the Caribbean. Dr. Franklin might not even give me a commission. The need has passed."
Lucas said, "We must talk further, Captain!"
Barney said grimly, "This is a sea war. I am convinced its next arena will be the Caribbean."
Lucas said, "You mean there's more money at Stasia? You'd prefer to operate from Stasia?"
"The Golden Rock?" Elise Roche asked, and immediately after uttered a long sigh. She had kept her cloak over her shoulders and she made a motion to push it back. Barney lifted it from her shoulders.
She was very white. Barney picked up an orange from the bowl of fruit on the table and slit it neatly with his knife. He held it under her nose. "Sniff it," he said.
Her eyes were half closed. "Fm faint," she murmured.
Lucas jumped to his feet. He did not look well either. "Some mulled wine, perhaps." He looked around for help. The boat pitched again and Lucas grasped for the table hurriedly.
Barney slid his arm around Elise Roche. "The Channel is behaving badly as usual," he said. "Can I—"
"Please," she whispered.
Lucas was still clinging to the table, and Mrs. Bachels was holding on too. Across the saloon, a chair crashed over; the place was emptying rapidly.
Barney rose. He lifted Madame Roche in his arpis, gathering her cloak up.
Lucas had turned a deep green. Barney grinned at him, as he stood there with the slender figure in his arms. "Seek the deck, sir," he said.
He wound his way out of the saloon. A waiter scurried ahead to open the door. "It's the fourth cabin, sir. Number 82."
Barney nodded. To him the pitch of the ship was like home. He leaned down and opened the door of number 82.
The cabin was empty. And Barney suspected that Madame Bachels would stay discreetly away. He kicked the door shut. Her dark head was against his shoulder, and her eyes opened. She smiled a little.
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"Put me down, Captain."
"I've a suspicion you're a very good sailor, madam."
She smiled. "Excellent, sir."
Behind them the door banged. Barney set her down, and shut the door again, latching it securely. He turned and faced her.
She said, her head tipped back to look up at him, "You wish to be respectable, now, Captain Barney?"
"No, never that," he said seriously. He had been long in prison. He had a hungry look.
She shook her head, her eyes serious. "My English is poor. I mean, you are refoiTn. You are not a magnificent pirate any more? Why not?"
Barney disregarded the question. She shrugged her slim shoulders and turned her back on him. From an opened valise she took a silver flask. She unscrewed the top and poured the amber liquid into the round silver top; she held it out.
Barney wondered briefly if it were drugged. He reminded himself there was a price on his head; he reminded himself that the intrigues of Europe were coming closer. But he took the silver cup; full as it was, it spilled a little over his fingers. It smelled just as brandy should smell.
She had read his thoughts. "You first, then I."
He downed the smooth fire.
"You see I drink too." She poured herself some. "Why don't you stay in Europe? You are famous here. You make millions. Do you have any left?"
Barney said, "Not a penny. Not a farthing." He thrust his hands in his pockets and regarded her.
She had finished her own brandy and she poured him another cup. He took it from her. "What else are you going to say, madam?"
"You stay and make much more." She sighed a little. Then she said, "But I know you will do as you please." She smiled then.
The cabin was stuffy and warm and smelled of French perfume and powder. The bed looked soft and the brandy burned in his stomach. Barney said suddenly:
"The trouble with my life is, Madam Roche, that beautiful women divert me."
"I will give you another drink of brandy, and I can help you, too," she said.
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He caught her hand and swung her around to face him. "Don't bother with the brandy." He tipped her face up with his hand.
His mouth closed over hers. With one arm he swung her feet off the floor and carried her thus to the bed.
Chapter 7
JOSHUA HARRIS WAS THIRTY YEARS OLD. Born in Virginia, of wealthy parents, he had graduated from the University of Pennsylvania at the age of nineteen. From there he had gone to work at Willing and Co., in Philadelphia, as a clerk. Six months later, going aboard a returning merchant ship at Chester, he learned that the price of wheat had risen. Before the news reached Philadelphia, Joshua Harris had bought up all the available wheat and flour in the city. A month later he founded his own company.